The 5 Times Jess Fell For Sam
by jessisparks2315
Summary: The backstory of the romance that started it all - 5 drabbles.
1. Classrooms

**1**  
The first time she sees him, he is wedged uncomfortably into one of the antique desks in one of Stanford's older classrooms. His frame is folded in ways that seem physically improbable, if not impossible, but he is hunched over a thick and battered notebook, scrawling notes as fast as his oversized hands can possibly write. The only seat open is behind him - she's late, of course - and she has to crane her neck to see around him, as seeing over his shoulder is out of the question.

She doesn't say anything - he looked so earnest and focused as she'd shuffled her way past him to her seat - but he turns and murmurs apologies with such genuine embarrassment that she smiles and says it doesn't matter, if he'll share his notes with her after class.

He grins. It's a lopsided, shy grin that lights his face up, and absolved of note-taking responsibility, she spends the remainder of class making idle mental guesses as to his name.

After class, he offers her his hand to help her out of her seat, and she stammers at the attention of a man for the first time in years. His accent speaks of rolling golden hills and summer afternoons lit with fireflies, a front porch, and the calluses on his hand speak of strength and honest labor. As they walk to the front of the classroom, she realizes that the frame she thought of as gangly and out of control is precisely driven, fully conscious of every movement that he makes. He introduces himself at the door, smiling shyly down that head-and-a-half of height difference, and she bites her lip and pushes her hair behind her ears as if she were thirteen years old again.

"I'm Sam," he says. "Sam Winchester."

"I'm Jessica," she says. "But you can call me Jess."


	2. Sidearms

**2**  
The first time she sees him with a gun is late in the fall, and she's convinced him to take her to the range. He'd spent a class period debating the pros and cons of Colt with a somewhat baffled but admiring history professor, and afterward she'd demanded to know how he knew so much about his weaponry. He'd smiled the absent-minded smile and said something about his father being a big hunter, and she's asked him to take her to the range.

They had to drive an hour to find one, but find one they did, because he couldn't seem to tell her no, and because this mystery that was his past fascinated her simply by its absence.

He rents them a Colt, a .45, and she insists on paying for it, since "come on, Sam, this isn't a date," and so that she isn't the only one paying for things, he rents a Glock, just to give her a wider range of experience. (She teases him that it's a toy he hasn't gotten to play with in a while, and his eyes get so far-away that she doesn't mention it again.)

He handles the Colt assuredly, she thinks of the embrace or conversation of an old friend, and tells her the names of its pieces, loads it, presses it into her hand to feel the weight. (The tips of his fingers brush her palm and linger for a second's part.) And he stands behind her and guides her arms, tentatively, correcting her stance, making sure her ear protection is on (twice), and when she asks, his arms go around her to help her line up the shot.

The recoil throws her into him and he catches her with one arm, steadying the gun's barrel toward the floor with the other, and for a golden moment he's holding her as tightly as she's ever been held, but then they're both standing, laughing, making jokes, and it's a golden memory.

She hands him the Glock and tells him to show off, come on, she can see he wants to, and he laughs again and asks if she wants him take one shot or two. She says he can empty the whole - what's it called again? Oh- clip, for all she cares, she just wants to see if he's any good.

When he stands to fire his body moves like dancing, in one smooth motion, and six recoils rock him back onto one heel, and his eyes are perfectly clear but he looks as if he wants to forget the single hole that six bullets made in the center of the target.  
She takes his hand as they leave, and for an hour of driving, he doesn't let go.


	3. Astronomy

**3**  
The first time he kisses her is also not a date, because they don't call it that for a long time, but he is her best friend, and the stars are burning in precisely the right pattern, and they are laying on a roof still warm from the early summer sun and he turns his head and looks at her with those green eyes that hurt and hide and laugh and watch her as if she's the moon itself.

She turns and looks at him and his hand brushes hers, and then he twists her fingers into his and rolls onto his side to touch her face (right where her jaw meets her neck, and his hand reaches all the way so that his thumb is at her lips) with his callused palm.

She shivers, even in the warmth, but she's too impatient for all his care, lays her hand on his and presses her lips to his cheek because she can't make herself break that pattern of the man instigating the first kiss, and he turns his head and kisses her as if he's been waiting to since he met her. (He will later tell her that this was exactly the case.)

He tastes like black coffee and smells like cut grass, and holds her like he's afraid she'll disappear. When he pulls back to breathe she realizes that she's crushed the fabric of his t-shirt in her fists as if she feels the same way (she does).

The stars burn in that precisely-right pattern, and they don't speak. Hands tangled and her head on his shoulder they watch the world turn.


	4. Cooking

**4  
**The first time she cooks for him is a complete disaster. Not because she's not a good cook, no, she's considered culinary school before she got that (particularly thick) envelope emblazoned with the Stanford logo, but because he distracts her so badly that the soup burns its way into the bottom of the pot and the bread never gets cooked.

He has the key to her apartment and he comes in silently (like a hunter, she will think later) and slides his hands onto her hips without warning, making her drop the soup spoon deep into the pan. As she tries to retrieve it she can feel his breath hot on her shoulder, and she laughs and shivers uncontrollably. She asks him where his manners are, casting what is meant to be a severe look at him, but his eyes are burning green and she trails off halfway, busies herself with finding that spoon because for the first time in her life her brain has been entirely scrambled with a single look. He tells her not to worry about the spoon, and his mouth is on her neck and she can't remember what exactly a spoon is.

Nor does she care.

Her heart is in her throat and her hand is in his hair and she can't seem to remember how to breathe, either, and she dimly recognizes that he's using one hand to turn off the stove and the oven and the other to turn her around and press against her, never taking his lips from her skin, and then he's lifted her, so easily (he's joked that he can hardly feel her when he picks her up, that she feels insubstantial), wrapped his arms around her. She cannot stand the thought of his ever letting go and he kisses her breathless and everything on the planet collapses inward to this one split centimeter of contact.

The stars burned perfectly that night too, but neither of them could be bothered to look.**  
**


	5. Fires

**A/N: Thank you lovelies for reading my little fics. I hope you enjoyed them! Tell me what you think in a review? Pretty please? And let me know if you want to see any more Sam/Jess fics, or any other Supernatural topics, for that matter. **

**And of course, SPN is Kripke's, and I am merely a devoted follower. ;)**

**5  
**The last time she saw him was, she realizes, far too brief and not nearly sweet enough. Even as she looks into black eyes, she can feel Sam's breathing beside her as if he is truly in the room with her, and when the demon (for he tells her he is such, and she cannot disbelieve him) tells her that she is going to die, there is no plummeting rush of terror, because Sam's hands are on her face. She asks him why, and he smiles, because he enjoys this, because her torment is his pleasure, before pinning her to the wall without a single movement. He tells her that she stands in his way, that it is because her beloved (and he spits the word like poison) is of use to him, and that she cannot hold him back.

She says, "Sam," and the pain begins, across her stomach, but she cannot scream. The demon tells her that Sam loves her, that he is going to propose to her, and that her death will ruin any chance of his ever finding happiness. (Somewhere in the back of her mind she is screaming, her feet have left the floor, but Sam says sh, that he loves her) He tells her that Sam will blame himself for her murder, be wracked and ruined with guilt for the rest of his life (until his use is fulfilled and he dies lonely and destroyed) and that pain rips from her throat in one sharp NO, but the demon laughs.

She will be the instrument that breaks him. And she will bring about destruction, and Sam will not be here to save her.

She knows.

But she can feel the kiss of Sam Winchester and she knows that it is she who will hold him back from this hell, and so she meets the black eyes of the demon (looks down on him, watches her blood redden the floor), and says that he will burn.

Close your eyes, Sam whispers, and she does as the agony in her belly rakes and crawls through the rest of her limbs.

The last thing she sees is the image of his face and the golden fields in his voice, the fireflies in his touch... And it's strange. As fires blossom around her and she walks into those fields, she cannot feel the pain.**  
**


End file.
